


Strays

by LikeABrokenClock



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Cats, Early Relationship, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, so many cats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 14:58:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7319845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LikeABrokenClock/pseuds/LikeABrokenClock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sonny wasn't sure exactly what to expect when Barba invited him to his apartment for the first time.  It definitely wasn't cats.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strays

“Wait. You’re not allergic to cats, are you?” Barba asks suddenly, key hovering just shy of the lock.

 

“I don’t think so?” Sonny hedges. To be honest, he’s never really been around them for more than a few minutes at a time. His family is composed of dog people through and through, the bigger and slobberier the better.

 

“Well,” Barba says wryly, “if your throat happens to close up and you can’t breathe, let me know so I can call an ambulance.”

 

“Um, will do?” Sonny replies as the lawyer opens the door to his apartment. Immediately, a long whine of a meow sounds from inside.

 

“Yes, I’m home. Now, shush. We have a guest,” the ADA says, stepping inside and toeing off his shoes. Sonny is surprised to see not one, but two pairs of luminous green eyes staring at him. “Well? Come in.” This is directed at Sonny as Barba hangs up his coat and makes his way to his couch, somehow managing not to trip over the black cats—one hurrying ahead to the couch, the other trying to rub up against his legs as he walks.

 

By the time Sonny has removed his own coat and shoes, the ADA is seated on his couch. One cat is curled in his lap. The other lounges on the arm of the couch, distinguishable from the black leather only by its piercing green eyes. “Come. Sit. Meet Dolce and Gabbana,” Barba says. Sonny snorts—of _course_ Barba would name his cats after fashion icons.

 

Sonny timidly settles next to the lawyer, eyeing the cat in his lap nervously. The cat slits one emerald eye open to stare back. Barba scoffs. “Come on. They don’t bite. Usually. At least, not Dolce here,” he says, nodding down at the cat Sonny’s currently engaged in a staring contest with. Sonny cautiously places his closed hand in front of the feline’s black nose. He lets it sniff him before gingerly running his fingers over the cat’s fur. Almost immediately, the cat starts purring so loudly that Sonny snatches his hand back. Barba raises an eyebrow, amused. “You… do realize that’s a good thing, Carisi?”

 

“Oh.” Sonny says. Maybe he did in theory, but in practice it’s disconcerting. He puts his hand over the cat’s head again, and Dolce butts his head up against it, purring louder.

 

“See? He likes you,” Barba murmurs, a soft smile on his face. He scratches the other cat behind the ears.

 

“Well, alright! Sonny Carisi, cat whisperer!”

 

“Don’t flatter yourself too much. Dolce loves everyone.”

 

“Gee, thanks, Counselor.” Sonny says, making a face. “Y’know, I never took you for a cat person. I mean, doesn’t the fur get all over your clothes?” Sonny pauses in his petting to brush a clump of cat hair off of his hand.

 

“Dry cleaning. It’s a modern day miracle.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. So I’ve heard.”

 

“And lint rollers. Never leave home without them.” Barba inclines his head toward the coffee table where, indeed, a lint roller is set out alongside a manila folder, TV remote, and half-finished thriller novel.

 

“Where did you even find them?”

 

“The lint rollers?”

 

Sonny snorts. “No. The cats.”

 

“You think _I_ find _them_? Hardly. They find me.”

 

“Ooooh! Story time, Counselor?” Sonny teases. He lets his head fall onto Barba’s shoulder, still absently running his fingers through Dolce’s fur.

 

“My old neighbor’s boyfriend brought these two home as a gift. He was allergic to them, but she’d been talking nonstop about how lonely she was while he was at work, and he must have figured it was worth the sacrifice. Speaking of, you holding up okay?” Barba waits for Sonny’s affirming nod before he continues. “Their relationship had been on the rocks for a while, and he seemed to think giving her cats would help.

 

“It didn’t. Apparently, despite all her complaints, she wasn’t lacking for companionship. She’d been cheating on the boyfriend with at least two other men.”

 

“Wait, seriously?” Sonny asks, laughing.

 

“The walls were pretty thin. I didn’t miss much of that fight. The girlfriend ended up moving in with one of her other lovers, and the boyfriend couldn’t put up with the cats anymore. He asked me to watch them while he looked for a new home for them.

 

“When I hadn’t heard from him in a week, I went to check and found that he’d found a new home for himself. Didn’t leave a forwarding address or anything, though. At that point, it was just easier to keep the damn cats myself,” Barba explains. There’s something that doesn’t quite match up between “damn cats” and the way he’s rubbing gently at the underside of Gabbana’s chin, coaxing a quiet purr from the cat. Still, Sonny’s too content where he is to call the lawyer out on it. “And then McQueen wa—”

 

“Wait, wait, wait. There’s another one?” Sonny’s eyes widen. He can practically feel Barba rolling his own eyes.

 

“As I was saying. McQueen used to hang around the apartment, and I would feed him every so often,” Barba continues.

 

Sonny grins. “So every day.”

 

Barba shakes his head long-sufferingly. “Then… Well, no one’s really sure what happened. The theory is he got hit by a car. I couldn’t just… leave him bleeding. In the street. To die. So…” He pauses, frowning. Gabbana rubs his cheek against the lawyer’s suddenly still hand, seeking contact. “Anyway. That cat cost me the case I was working at the time and over four thousand in vet bills. After that, I was practically obligated to take him in for good.”

 

Sonny smiles and nuzzles a little closer to the lawyer. “He’s lucky he had you to look out for him,” he murmurs. Barba hums in response. “I haven’t seen him though. Where’s he hidin’?”

 

“Most likely, he’s sleeping on my bed. He doesn’t care for Dolce and Gabbana much. They tolerate each other when they have to, but they don’t really—” The doorbell cuts him off. The cats’ ears perk toward the door. Barba shoos Dolce off his lap, stands, and pulls a twenty out of his wallet. He shoves the bill into Sonny’s hand. “Get that, will you?”

 

He’s walking toward the kitchen before Sonny can say anything, cats at his feet, meowing plaintively. As Sonny goes to answer the door, he can hear Barba murmuring quietly in Spanish to the cats and the distinctive sound of cat food being poured into a bowl. Sonny tips the pizza boy a little more than he usually would. So what if he’s in a good mood? It’s not every day he gets to see Barba with cats. Yet.

 

He’s still grinning when he strides into the kitchen, where Barba is setting out plates and napkins while Dolce and Gabbana crouch over their bowls. The drinks are already on the table. A bottle of beer is waiting for Sonny, and the detective melts a little more. Barba doesn’t drink beer. He wouldn’t have any in his apartment if he hadn’t gotten it specially for Sonny’s benefit.

 

Sonny’s halfway through his first slice when Barba suddenly clucks disapprovingly. “How many times have I told you? My food is mine now. Your food is over there,” the lawyer admonishes. He tacks on something in Spanish that Sonny can’t quite catch. It doesn’t sound particularly flattering. He sets his pizza on his plate and leans down, emerging from under the table with a brown and white tabby. A single yellow eye stares hopefully at the pizza on the table. “This is McQueen.”

 

Sonny breaks out in a grin as the ADA deposits the feline back onto the floor. “You totally fed him your own food,” he accuses, eyes glittering fondly.

 

“While he was homeless and starving. He knows better now. And don’t you dare encourage him,” Barba warns, eyes narrowing as the cat saunters over to Sonny and rubs hopefully up against his legs.

 

“Aw, nah. That’s all you, Counselor.” Sonny smirks, even as his hand sneaks down to scratch the cat’s ears. As soon as it becomes apparent that the detective isn’t going to offer any tidbits, McQueen stalks over to the cat food to sulk. “So his eye? Was he born that way or…”

 

“No, they had to remove it after the accident,” Barba says. Sonny frowns, sensing he’s touched on a sore spot, but Barba offers him a half smile. “I don’t think he even notices most of the time. Watch. McQueen!”

 

The cat in question turns to look at his owner over his shoulder. Barba plucks a piece of sausage from his pizza. He tosses it at the cat, who immediately becomes a blur of striped fur. McQueen leaps and twists in midair, catching the morsel and landing neatly on all fours. Sonny whistles in appreciation. Then he turns to face Barba with an eyebrow raised.

 

“What?” Barba asks warily.

 

“What happened to ‘don’t encourage him’?”

 

The ADA waves his hand dismissively. “He already knows I’m weak. It’s a lost cause. He doesn’t need to pester _you_ every time you try and eat something around here.”

 

Sonny takes a bite of pizza to cover up the suddenly soft expression on his face as the implications of Barba’s words sink in. Barba doesn’t want his cat to bother Sonny while he eats. Every time. Which means this tentative, yet unnamed thing between them is going to continue at Barba’s apartment in the future.

 

After dinner, Sonny helps with the dishes despite the protests and eye rolls of Barba. He’s drying his hands on the unsurprisingly plush white hand towel next to the sink when he finally works up the courage to ask, “Uh, counselor? Where’s the… y’know?” He gestures helplessly, blush rising to his cheeks. He’s a grown man who works in Special Victims. This shouldn’t be so hard.

 

Barba smirks, but Sonny is relieved to see that it stems from amusement rather than superiority. “Bathroom?” He inclines his head toward a pair of doors barely visible from the kitchen. “White door on the left.”

 

“Thanks,” Sonny mutters, still blushing a little. He locks himself in the small room and takes a deep breath before unzipping his pants.

 

And then he hears the near growl. It’s all he can do not to yelp. He turns his head slowly and catches a glimpse of menacing orange eyes glowering at him from the towel rack. He has never zipped up his pants faster in his life. He slowly backs toward the door, hands up in surrender, keeping a close eye on his would-be attacker. When he reaches the door, he throws himself outside and shuts the door behind him. “Raf! Help.” So much for not embarrassing himself any more.

 

“Sonny? What? Are you alright?” Barba practically sprints to the bathroom. Sonny opens the door a sliver. Barba stops short when he follows Sonny’s gaze to the unkempt mass of gray fur atop the neatly folded towels. “Oh. I see you found Chanel.”

 

“It wants to kill me,” Sonny discloses, realizing how pathetic that sounds. Moreso when Barba chuckles.

 

“No, no. Just. Keep your hands to yourself. Unlike Dolce, she _does_ bite. But only when provoked,” Barba says.

 

“Any other secret cats I should know about?” Sonny can’t quite keep the bitterness from his voice. Barba looks guilty.

 

“No, that’s all of them. Go on. I’ll explain when you’re done,” Barba offers. He catches Sonny’s hand and rubs it, soothingly, eyes apologetic. “I promise?” Sonny sighs and does as he’s told.

 

After Sonny discovers exactly how hard it is to pee in full view of a hostile cat, he makes his way back to the couch where Barba is waiting for him. One of the black cats is sprawled next to the ADA, the other curled in the armchair next to the couch. Barba looks up at Sonny, who’s shocked to see that he looks… scared. Like Sonny might be mad at him. Might yell at him. Might leave him. Sonny would never. He settles in next to the attorney and wraps his arms shyly around him.

 

“Your cat is scary,” he murmurs into the Barba’s neck, feeling more than hearing the other man let out a relieved laugh. Sonny doesn’t comment on how shaky it sounds. “So. C’mon. Why didn’t you warn me about her?”

 

“You were already judging me for the other three,” Barba mutters.

 

“Was not!” Sonny objects.

 

“Uh-huh. Regardless. I figured…. Figured that I’d have time to get you used to the idea of… well, cats in general. Mostly the other three. The ones who have what non-cat people like yourself would consider redeeming qualities. And once you were used to them, I could have you over and tell you about the cat who really has none to speak of.” Sonny can’t help the way he holds Barba just a little tighter. It’s the second time tonight that he’s acknowledged Sonny’s future place in his apartment with him and his small collection of cats.

 

“Non-cat people… C’mon, was I really that bad?”

 

“You’ve seen me with children. That’s you with cats.”

 

Sonny winces. “Yikes.”

 

“And Chanel… she doesn’t exactly make for a good impression. She has fear and aggression issues. She was returned to the shelter on five separate occasions for various offenses. Even the staff at the shelter was wary of her. She was next in line to be euthanized,” Barba explains. “I didn’t think you’d even cross paths—I barely see her most of the time.”

 

“Hey. Wait a minute. I thought the cats found you.”

 

“They do.”

 

“You just said you got Chanel from a shelter. You went in and got the one that no one else would touch with a ten-foot pole. Don’t tell me you ended up in the shelter by _accident._ ”

 

Barba snorts. “Hardly. It wasn’t an accident. But I didn’t go in looking for the least personable cat there, either.

 

“I went to the shelter because I figured McQueen could use some company since Dolce and Gabbana had each other, and I wasn’t home terribly often. Going to the shelter wasn’t the accident. Finding Chanel was.”

 

Sonny hums. “It’s cute.”

 

“What? That my life is controlled by furry, four-legged tyrants?”

 

“Your thing for strays.”

 

“I don’t know about cute. But it is lucky for you, isn’t it?” Barba asks. His tone is light, but he’s pulled away from Sonny to search his face.

 

“How so?” Sonny looks perplexed.

 

“I seem to recall a certain detective getting bounced around from precinct to precinct,” Barba offers hesitantly, uncertain if he’s crossing a line. Sonny’s lips quirk up at the corners.

 

“That so?”

 

“Mmhmm. Made a few enemies along the way. Came into SVU with one foot already out the door.”

 

“Seems to me like he found a pretty good reason to stay,” Sonny murmurs, peering up at Barba with blue, blue eyes. The ADA lays his head atop Sonny’s gently, affectionately.

 

“I’m glad he’s not allergic to cats,” Barba finally settles for. It’s innocuous enough for now, he thinks.

 

“Me, too.” Sonny’s smile is evident in his voice. He’s a good detective. He knows how to read between the lines. It’s not like Barba’s soft spot for him is a secret, anyhow.

 

Barba turns on the TV and puts on an old movie with the volume low. Sonny’s debating asking—only semi-jokingly—for some popcorn to go with it, when the black cat laying next to Barba gets up and stretches. Then, deliberately, he pads over and settles in Sonny’s lap with a yawn. Sonny’s pretty sure it’s Dolce, the cat who loves everyone, but still. He literally had to crawl over his owner’s lap to get to Sonny and, if that’s not a seal of approval, Sonny’s not sure what is.

 

This time, Sonny doesn’t jump when the cat starts purring. It is, after all, a good thing.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure what convinced me Barba has a million cats, but... There it is.
> 
> I'm also not sure why Sonny and Rafael always end up on couches. I have another story mostly written and it--spoiler alert--also takes place on a couch.
> 
> I'm the only one who's edited this, so if you see any mistakes and alert me nicely, I'll be more than happy to fix them.
> 
> I don't own any of the characters except the cats.


End file.
